


jealousy (is a green-eyed monster)

by buckymyson (trashfinity)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, And angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Jealousy, Marriage Proposal, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 02:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13261326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfinity/pseuds/buckymyson
Summary: In which MJ runs a feminist blog, is stupidly in love with Peter Parker, and struggles to cope how her life is changing.





	jealousy (is a green-eyed monster)

**Author's Note:**

> unoriginal title was pulled from my ass and should've been a recurring metaphor but I have yet to reach Peak Fic Writer Status :))
> 
> written back in the summer, finished in november, and being posted now so beware plot holes
> 
> and honestly this is kind of a shit show but I love it so take it and read it and remember the summer when we got new spideychelle fics every hour

Michelle is not the jealous type. She's confident enough in her relationship to trust Peter whenever she finds him chatting to an attractive person. Whomever he was with in the past is only her business if he's the one to bring it up. He's dating her now, calling her ‘babe’ and ‘sweetheart’ and every other endearing pet name in the book, kissing her when he gets home from class and patrol and in the morning and late at night, smiling like the dork he is whenever she's mentioned. No one else matters to him, so they don't matter to her.

 

She finds him chatting to a girl in his class one afternoon, incredibly oblivious to her flirting, and Michelle smiles. This is why she's never jealous; Peter only notices her, now. This girl could be inviting her back to her place and he'd still be chatting about Michelle like she hung the moon. The old Michelle found the affection disgusting and unnecessary, but now she finds it sweet. It helps remind her that Peter truly cares for her, that he's serious about his relationship and keeping her in his life.

 

While she feels completely secure in her relationship, she can't resist winding a hand around his waist as she steps up beside him and presses a kiss onto his cheek. “Are you ready to go? We have that dinner with my parents tonight.”

 

The girl looks rightfully embarrassed, and quickly finishes up the conversation, leaving with an awkward wave as she walks down the path, towards the center of campus.

 

“You didn't need to do that,” Peter says, twisting so they're face to face. Well, nose to chin. In bare feet, she stands two inches above him, but she's in her favorite boots today, and she has another inch on him. He pushes up on his tiptoes and kisses her lips, smiling sweetly. “Thank you, though.”

 

“i just didn't want her to get the wrong impression,” Michelle replies nonchalantly. Really, she wasn't jealous. It's just that Peter sometimes struggles with letting admirers down gently while remaining clear that he's _not interested_ , so Michelle helps him out when she can. “We really do have that dinner, though, so . . .”

 

Peter nods as he laces their fingers together, turning them back in the direction of their apartment that's technically just his, but Michelle has slowly begun taking over. Half of her clothes are in the space set aside in his dresser, and she's had a toothbrush by his sink for the past six months. For her birthday, he bought her a nightstand for her unofficial side of the bed, and now her contact lenses and birth control permanently reside there, next to her Spider-Man lamp and her favorite photo of them at Coney Island. Her apartment is used as a quiet getaway for studying, and that's about it. Even then, she and Peter tend to study together, so it counts as their space, not just hers. They've talked about moving in together, officially, but nothing's 100 percent confirmed.

 

The walk back is filled with mindless chatter, funny stories about class and annoying professors. She won't remember any of it later tonight, but she doesn't care. Simply talking with Peter, no matter the subject, is comforting. It helps her feel important, heard. There's someone actively listening to her dumb stories in the moment, not just nodding along as their mind wanders. Michelle was never ignored at home, just . . . underappreciated. It always felt, as the youngest, that someone was accomplishing more. She knew it wasn't fair to compare herself to her brother and cousins, but she did it anyways. Sometimes, it felt like she was only considered or included in things because she was family, not because she was wanted. But with Peter, she feels noticed, appreciated, loved. He genuinely cares about her and wants to spend time with her. It's even better when she remembers that he _chose_ her, that it's not an obligation he feels should be fulfilled. Of course she loves her family, but it's different with Peter. Better. Like he'd be worth spending the rest of her life with.

 

She watches him on the walk back, his face glowing in the winter sunset, and feels her heart falling in love all over again. He's animatedly retelling a story about an incident in the lab today, his usual dorky smile tugging at his lips. If his voice weren't so soothing, she'd be kissing the smile from his soft lips. Marriage as a general concept is alright, except that it was originally an exchanging of goods, with the woman as the goods, but Michelle never imagined it for herself. Finding a man or woman worth settling down with had seemed impossible in high school, even while dating Peter for the first time. Now, after three break-ups and five years of intermittent dating, she's much more comfortable with the idea, though still not completely sold on it. (With how Peter's looking right now, though, she might say yes if he asked.)

 

Once back in the warmth of the apartment, Michelle heads for the shower and extends the invitation to Peter, who respectfully declines. It's for the best, since his mouth tends to attach itself to her neck during these situations and she'd rather not show up to dinner with her traditionalist parents wearing a scarf because her neck is covered in hickeys. They're not yet aware of the extent of their relationship, and Michelle would like to keep it that way until she has no choice but to face it.

 

She's standing under the shower spray, enjoying the hot water pouring over her body, when the door opens and Peter walks in. A comment about him changing his mind is on her tongue when he manages to speak up before her.

 

“Hey, MJ? Can we talk?”

 

There's an urgency to his voice she wasn't expecting, and her heart thumps against her ribs with worry. “About what?”

 

“Do - would you ever want to get married?”

 

She freezes, shampoo bottle halfway off the shelf, and pokes her head out of the shower. “Is this some weird way of proposing to me?”

 

“No! No, it's not - I'm just.”

 

“Curious?” She suggests when he appears at a loss for words, and he nods.

 

“Yeah. Curious,” he agrees.

 

She ponders this for a moment. Marrying Peter certainly seems possible, but does she really want to? “I mean, it's crossed my mind. Why, were you planning on dropping the ring into my wine tonight, or something?”

 

He scoffs. “Of course not.” Quieter, he adds, “Your mother said you'd just swallow it.”

 

So there _is_ a ring. That's . . . she's not really sure how she feels. They've mentioned it in passing, but there's been no thorough conversation about their expectations or anything. Michelle's always assumed he'd propose at some point, and she'd answer accordingly, but that was always in the future.

 

“If you're planning to propose, why bring it up?”

 

He shrugs, trying to pass it off as casual, but Michelle sees through it. This has been on his mind for a while now. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

 

She narrows her eyes, suspicious. “How long have you had the ring?”

 

“Since Senior prom,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “So nearly four years.”

 

Besides his alter ego, Peter is horrible with secrets. Michelle's almost proud of him for keeping this quiet for so long. She also feels bad for putting him on the spot, in a sense. Turning this into an interrogation wasn't her intent. She was curious, like him.

 

For a moment, the only noise is the water hitting the tiled wall. Then: “You know, if you still want to propose, I might just say yes. But a word of advice? Do it before we leave. Public proposals make me uncomfortable.”

 

His goofy, dopey grin returns and Michelle can't help mirroring him. “Sounds good.” Peter turns to leave, but not before she reaches out and pulls him into a kiss.

 

“I love you, nerd.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The ring is simple. Understated. A single sapphire situated on a thin golden band. Around the inside, he had three numbers engraved: 5/25/17. The day of their first date. With it being the 40th anniversary of Star Wars, he'd taken her to a special showing. She’d been expecting him to nerd out the whole time, but he managed to keep his excitement contained until the movie started. His nerdiness had always been cute, but this was like seeing another side of him, somehow. From that day on, Michelle was helplessly in love with him.

 

Dinner with her parents is at a classy Italian place by the water, their treat. It's not the type of place where the cheapest thing is still twenty bucks, but it does require dressing up, and Michelle pulls through. Her dress is a rich sapphire blue that perfectly compliments her ring and accentuates all the right places. The high neckline keeps it classy while her gold studs and thin chains add a layer of bling. Extensive use of her hairdryer, flat iron, and loads of hair products tame her unruly curls into pin-straight hair. She wears little makeup; foundation to even out her skin tone, eyeliner to make her eyes pop, and lip gloss. Peter gapes when she exits the bathroom, and she physically has to close his jaw.

 

Even her parents are impressed.

 

Michelle has to resist the urge to laugh when, all throughout dinner, her mother not-so-subtly eyes Peter. She loves her mother dearly, but let's just say Michelle did _not_ get her observational skills from that side of the family. Her father, however, notices five minutes in and wears a smirk the entire night. Eventually, her mother learns the truth, but only after Peter accidentally refers to her as his fiancée. Of course, then her mother decides to announce it to the entire restaurant and humiliates Michelle. It isn’t technically a public proposal, but it’s damn close. She’s not exactly sure why, but something about revealing details of her personal life to strangers makes her uncomfortable.

 

“We’re eloping,” she informs Peter that night. Her back is pressed against his bedroom door, her legs around his waist, his lips on her neck, her dress discarded in the hall. In the dim light, her ring shines and sparkles. “Me, you, and a judge. No one else.”

 

“We could get married in a volcano and I wouldn’t care,” he whispers against her jaw. “I just want to call you my wife.”

 

“Let’s go tomorrow.” In the six hours since becoming engaged, Michelle has decided that marrying Peter is exactly what she wants, and he seems to agree.

 

“Tomorrow sounds great.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**February 17th**

 

_So this is a day late, but when is that a surprise. I don’t understand how I still have so many followers. How are you not fed up with me yet? Anyways, I have an excuse this time that isn’t school, so that’s exciting._

 

_Anyone who keeps up with me on a semi-constant base has probably heard of my boyfriend by now. If not, or if you’re new, I have a very simple crash course: he’s a nerdy white guy that’s two inches shorter than me and supports everything I tell him to. No, but seriously, he’s just as passionate about the world’s issues as me, and it’s refreshing from the assholes at college who still think white guys should rule the world. Also, he was mostly raised by his Aunt, who is literally my favorite person on earth, so he gets extra brownie points for that._

 

_For those of you who have been here since the beginning - I started this blog in my sophomore year of high school, six years ago now - then you might remember my predicament about said boyfriend. Growing up with traditional parents, I was taught that a good wife is a dutiful wife. I’ve always felt a disconnect with that, because how can you be free to live your life if you’re stuck cooking and cleaning for an ungrateful man? At first, my answer was to date women, but that quickly fell through the floor when my bisexual ass fell for the cute but nerdy boy, aka my boyfriend._

 

 _This is when my internet knowledge kicked in. For years, I’d been reading blog posts and tweets saying that a woman doesn’t need a man to be successful. I foolishly believed this meant that I_ couldn’t _date a guy without turning my back on my feminist morals. Months passed while I tried to get over this inconvenient crush. I threw myself into school and became much more active on the internet by advocating for women, LGBTQ+, and black rights. Around this time is when my blog really started taking off, and the pressure to do the right thing hit me hard. I was already in love with the boy, but we were still in the ‘longing glances’ phase, so I had a decision to make: ignore my feelings for my morals, or ignore my morals for my feelings?_

 

 _I decided to ask an old friend who had moved across the country earlier that year: she had co-founded the intersectional feminism club at my school and had gone to Homecoming with my crush. If anyone knew what to do, it would be her. We spent hours on the phone while I figured out my feelings on everything. Finally, she told me that being a feminist doesn’t mean I can’t date a boy; it means I have the freedom to choose. In the end, he took me to a special screening of_ Star Wars _on its 40th anniversary and I was quite content._

 

_Fast-forward five and half years and we’re back to present day. We’ve broken up three times, but never for very long. The longest was the most recent, when I spent three months abroad and we decided to take a break. Of course, I came back and he was my boyfriend again the next day, and we’ve been together ever since. There’s no one I’ve ever loved like I love him. Cheesy as it is, he’s the light of my life. He buys me my special tea and helps me study and rubs my shoulders and is an all-around excellent boyfriend. I never actively thought about the future, but when I saw myself five, ten, twenty, fifty years down the road, he was there._

 

_Now, for a little history lesson and some context, I want to explain what marriage used to be. In Europe, and later North America after the colonies came to be, women weren’t people for the longest time. They were property to be sold or exchanged, and were worth nothing more than the sons they would bear. One could’ve compared them to cattle. Changing times led to women being granted more and more rights until becoming the free-thinking and living humans we are today. But although women are generally considered to be free to do as they please within the confines of the law, this stereotype still hangs over our heads. To some, especially in third-world countries, southern states, and places where specific religions are popular, women are still expected to be obedient to their husbands._

 

_And this is where my problem lies._

 

_Yesterday afternoon, my boyfriend became my fiancé after briefly discussing marriage with me. We’d never sat down and had this conversation before, so it was a little strange when he admitted to buying an engagement ring around the time of our senior prom. The whole thing was a little strange, to be honest, because I didn’t think I was ready._

 

_Maybe it’s my fear of the unknown disguising itself in my insecurities, but I will admit to being hesitant about marriage. It just seems so traditional nowadays. I feel like becoming a wife puts this expectation on my shoulders that I’m not ready to handle. This whole dilemma is like the point in my life where I was torn between a boy and womanhood, except it’s happening much, much faster, and I’m terrified._

 

_I was taught from birth that sex before marriage is a sin and that it’s wrong to move in with a man you are not currently engaged or married to. Technically, I’ve followed the latter, but the first flew out the window back in high school. (Sorry mom and dad, except I’m not really that sorry.) It was my way of rebelling against my parents’ traditional views. But now I’m worried that by getting married before officially moving in with my_ ~~boyfriend~~ _fiancé is me succumbing to the pressure to be a proper wife. I’m not trying to actively rebel against my parents, but it just feels like something I need to be doing now. I just feel that getting married is pushing back my progress as a feminist. One minute I’m all about women choosing their own paths and the next I’m listen to my parents and getting married._

 

_I’m just conflicted, I guess._

 

_It doesn’t help that I’m leaving in twenty minutes to go get married. (I refuse to get married in a church in front of two-hundred people, so we’re going to elope. Just don’t tell our families; we haven’t told them yet, and only my parents know about the engagement.) On one hand, I feel ready for this. I love my ~~boyfriend~~ _fiancé__ _and I really do want to spend the rest of my life with him. But on the other, I don’t want to rush into this to discover a few months down the road that I regret marrying him._

 

_I’ll stop here for now and let you all have your debates._

 

_See you next week when I might be a married woman!!!_

 

_Peace and Love,_

 

_MJ_

  


With a sigh, Michelle closes her laptop and leans back, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Usually, writing everything down for her blog is therapeutic and helps solve her problems, but she’s managed to stress herself out even more. She has all the questions and none of the answers, and she needs that to be reversed sometime in the next few hours, before her life is irrevocably changed. She has no doubts about loving Peter; it’s marrying him that’s causing all her problems.

 

A knock on the door interrupts her moral dilemma, and she rises to answer it when Peter calls out from the shower, “MJ, can you answer that?!”

 

“Got it!”

 

It takes no more than five seconds to walk from the couch to their apartment door, so Michelle is very confused when she opens the door and there’s not a single person in sight. She rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath, adding ‘annoying kids’ to her list of grievances for the day, right after ‘no chamomile tea’ and ‘stain on good blouse’. But, just as she shuts the door, a faint cooing sound comes from the ground.

 

Closing her eyes, Michelle takes a deep breath and chants, “my life is _not_ a cheesy sitcom.”

 

There’s no conceivable way that there is a _baby_ sitting in the hall. That’s the stuff of TV, and this is real life, where unwanted kids are left at churches and fire stations, _not_ outside apartment doors.

 

Except, when she opens her eyes and looks down, there’s a baby staring up at her with big brown eyes. Michelle knows for a fact that this baby is not hers, as she’s never been pregnant in her life. However, it’s entirely possible that Peter managed to knock up some poor, unsuspecting girl during their break last year, leaving him with a child. Kneeling down in front of the carrier, she plucks a note from between the baby’s legs. It’s a piece of paper folded in half, with only the words ‘ _To Peter’_ written on the front. Is it rude of her to hope for a return address in the letter?

 

Speaking of the devil, Peter exits the bathroom just as Michelle moves to open the letter, and she pivots on her toes to face him.

 

“What’s that?” he asks. One hand is clutching his towel while the other reaches out for the paper. If she weren’t so confused and angry, she’d be all over him with the way his abs glisten like he’s Edward Cullen or something. Except minus the paleness and fangs and vampireness and creepy obsession with a teenage girl.

 

Michelle shrugs. “A letter. I haven’t read it, but I assume it’s an explanation for the baby sitting in the hall.”

 

“Baby? What the fu -” He turns so quickly it makes Michelle dizzy. “Why is there a baby sitting in the hall?”

 

“Read the letter and maybe you’ll find out!” She shoves the paper into his chest before reaching down and grabbing the carrier’s handle. Michelle isn’t so rude as to leave an innocent infant in the drafty hall, though she is upset about its presence. One crisis at a time, please.

 

Peter stands there, one hand still clutching his towel, with the door wide open, and he doesn’t move until he’s finished reading the letter. When he finally does take a seat, he’s oddly silent.

 

“What did it say?” she prompts, nudging his arm with her elbow. On the table, the baby is now asleep in the carrier, oblivious to their current crisis.

 

“Do you remember Gwen Stacey? She went to Midtown for a few months in Junior year?”

 

“Hard not to forget,” Michelle snorts. “She was obsessed with Spider-Man. Is it hers?”

 

“Yeah.” Peter swallows hard. “I ran into her while you were abroad, about a week after you left, and we . . . we reconnected. Um, we went on a few dates, and I took her home a couple times, but then she had to leave and you came back and I just forgot, I guess. Anyways, the letter’s from her. She says she’s not cut out to be the mother our daughter deserves, so she’s giving her to me. The required papers will be in the mailbox by tomorrow. Her full name is Jessica Stacy Parker. Tha - That's all it says.”

 

Michelle twists her engagement ring around her finger. This is dangerous new territory, and they're both entirely unprepared. Kids were only ever a maybe for her, and always in the future. Peter has previously expressed his interest in being a father, but not so soon. Not before graduation, while he's juggling class and his internship and his actual internship and a relationship. The ring is meant to be a promise of forever, but Michelle is having major second thoughts. Before, she was slightly hesitant about entering married life. But now there's a kid involved, one that's not even her own, and she's not sure how to feel about it.

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“I don't know,” he admits with a dejected sigh. “I really don't know.”

 

“Take your time and think. Call May and ask her for advice. I'll be here whenever you need me.”

 

She stands, hand lingering on his shoulder, unsure. There's not exactly protocol for this sort of thing.

 

“We'll figure it out together.”

 

She’s not quite sure if she means that or not.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Back at her apartment, Michelle opens her laptop and gets to writing. Leaving Peter alone with a baby could easily be a disaster, but she knows he needs to time to think without her hovering. It’s not a choice between being a father or being a husband for him, but rather if he wants to be both. For Michelle, though, that’s essentially her crisis.

 

Peter would never force her into something she doesn’t want, but how does she choose between staying with him but becoming a mother or breaking things off to avoid it? But maybe he’ll choose to give her up, and she won’t need to worry about it. Yet, she knows Peter better than anyone, and she can’t see him signing away his parental rights. He’s too good, too responsible.

 

She leans back, letting her head smack the wall behind her bed in frustration. None of this would’ve happened if she’d stayed here, or tried to make a long-distance relationship work. Instead, she had to be incredibly stupid and break up with the love of her goddamn life because she was selfish and scared of losing him. It’s ironic, she thinks, because now she might actually lose him to a baby.

 

When did her life get so complicated?

 

**February 17th - mini update**

 

_Yes, I realize I posted earlier today, but shit has hit the fan and I need to write to get it out of my system before I explode._

 

_In my first post, I said that I was getting married today. Now, I’m still engaged, for now, but there will be no eloping today. Why, you may ask? Well, it has a little something to do with the baby that showed up on my ~~boyfriend~~ _fiancé's__ _doorstep._

 

_You see, while I was studying abroad this time last year, my boyfriend reconnected with an old friend from high school. They went out a few times, but she left and I came back and the rest is history._

 

_Or so I thought._

 

_Anyways, I just finished posting when there was a knock on the door. With my ~~boyfriend~~ _fiancé__ _in the shower, I went and answered. Except, no one was there until I looked down and a baby stared up at me from its carrier. Tucked in with her (though at that time she was little more like a genderless shit machine) was a letter from her mother, which my ~~boyfriend~~ _fiancé__ _summed up as “she doesn’t want the kid anymore”. The mother, of course, is the old friend from high school. Apparently, my ~~boyfriend~~ _fiancé__ _is the father, though I’m not sure how reliable a letter is for that kind of stuff._

 

_So now we’re facing the age-old dilemma of: do we keep this mysterious baby or do we put her up for adoption? I’m still on the fence about it all, because it’s not my kid. I’ll only get a say in this because I’m engaged to her (supposed) dad, and that doesn’t warrant me much sway. My ~~boyfriend~~ _fiancé__ _, however, is possibly the nicest human being on the planet, and I find it highly unlikely he’ll willingly sign away his rights._

 

_My options are: leave him and escape motherhood, or stay and become this kid’s (step?) mother._

 

_Problem is, I’m not sure how I feel about kids. She’s pretty cute, but cuteness will only get her so far in my books. It’ll be hard, too, because I’m not her mother. I’m just some stranger that will potentially sing her lullabies and change her diapers and act like her mother._

 

_I just need to get this all sorted out on (electronic) paper. And, please, don’t debate about ethics and manners and everything, because the last thing I need is a lesson right now. Any advice will be accepted, though, so voice your helpful thoughts if you want._

 

_Peace and love,_

 

_MJ_

  


Heaving a sigh, she shuts off her laptop and moves it to the side. She needs to sit and think, not be distracted by whatever horrible things are happening across the globe. A quick check of her phone shows two messages and a voicemail from Peter.

 

**Petey-Man: I think I know what I want to do.**

**Can you come over?**

 

**One [1] Missed Call: Petey-Man**

 

**One [1] New Voicemail: Petey-Man [0:26]**

 

Hesitantly, Michelle holds her phone up to her ear and waits for the worst.

 

_“Hey, so, um, I just want to say, before anything else, that I love you and you mean everything to me. This isn’t a breakup call, but I. I just want you to know that. Whatever happens, you’re still my fiancée. I still want to marry you. But yeah, if you could come over to talk, that’d be, um, that’d be great. Love you, MJ.”_

 

That - that wasn’t the worst, surprisingly. He’s not breaking up with her? Well, he still could be, she supposes, but he’s inviting her over to do it in person because he’s not an insensitive asshole. Then again, he said he still wants to marry her, so it can’t be a breakup. No one would say that if they plan on ending a relationship.

 

Michelle realizes the only way to figure any of this out is to head over to Peter’s. So, with one last silent prayer to a god she doesn’t believe in, she slips the ring onto her finger and starts the five-minute walk to Peter’s place.

 

As she strolls over the frosted New England sidewalk, her chin tucked into her scarf to keep from freezing, she admires her ring in the winter sunlight. She’d only taken it off to write because she found the weight of it threw her off, and sliding it back on felt right, somehow, like she’s meant to wear it. If she really thinks about it, she and Peter do seem meant-to-be. They’ve survived high school, college, and a power-hungry alien who nearly destroyed the world. Even after their longest breakup, they reunited as though Michelle hadn’t spent three months abroad. Nothing has ever kept them apart, or given them a reason to be apart. There’s also no one she’ll ever be able to love like Peter.

 

Whatever happens, she knows now that she’ll be by his side, cheesy as it sounds.

 

God, her life is turning into some cliché Hallmark movie and she really should feel worse about it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Peter’s pacing in the kitchen when she unlocks the door, though it’s not from worry. In his arms is the baby, - _Jessica_ , she reminds herself - stripped of her jacket and thick blanket. Michelle see tufts of curly brown hair and Michelin Man rolls under her pale pink onesie, and she’s reminded of Peter’s baby photos. Her eyes are his, as well as the nose, and she’s comforted by the fact she shares so many of Peter’s traits. Jessica is giggling, tiny fists waving in the air, and Peter is tickling her stomach happily.

 

“I might be able to get used to this,” she admits. She leans against the counter, content to watch from a distance.

 

“You’re here!” Peter exclaims, as though he wasn’t expecting her. His face lights up, and he genuinely seems happy.

 

“I assume this means we’ll be needing to take a trip to Baby’s ‘R’ Us?” she asks, motioning to the giggling baby.

 

His brow furrows for a split second, his eyes looking from Michelle to his daughter and back again. “We?”

 

“I’m not letting you go in by yourself. You’d get distracted by the Spider-Man onesies.”

 

“They sell those?”

 

Michelle shakes her head, not quite able to believe that this dork is the man she’s choosing to spend the rest of her life with. “Yes, they sell those, and I refuse to let our daughter wear one until she has a Maya Angelou bib.”

 

“They make those? And, wait, did you say _our_ daughter?”

 

“You can barely take care of yourself, let alone a baby. And she might not be my biological daughter, but she is yours and what’s mine is yours, and what not.” She shrugs, hoping to pass it off casually and move on, but Peter has other ideas.

 

“You really mean that?”

 

“I - of course I do, Peter. I was foolish to think I could mean anything but.”

 

There’s no big embrace as the music swells in the background, no grand kiss to rival all kisses. Just a peck on her cheek and a warm smile, because Michelle doesn’t need any dramatics. She has Peter, and that’s more than enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As the youngest in her family, Michelle saw few babies in her childhood until her cousins began to settle down. By that point, she was in high school and too focused on her studies than visiting a crying newborn who only eats, sleeps, and poops. She enjoys babies sometimes, knows when one is cute and one when is actually cute, but she's never spent a particularly long amount of time with one. Midtown was a school dedicated to science, not Home Ec, so the dumb parent-for-a-week assignment had no place in her classes. Caring for a baby, especially one too young for solid food, is not something she can do well.

 

Proof: Jessica has been wailing for the past hour and Michelle has no freaking clue as to why. She has tried _everything._ Feeding her, burping her, changing her diaper, rocking her, and the tears haven't let up. Now, she can feel a migraine forming right behind her eyes, throbbing with every scream. Peter left to buy a crib and a stroller about a half-hour ago, and without a car, she doesn't expect him back for another hour at least.

 

What kind of mother will she be if she can't handle a simple crying baby? What happens when they can walk and talk and sass her back? And what if she has a genetic mutation like Peter's and her childhood is spent climbing walls? Michelle isn't prepared for any of that.

 

But she refuses to give up so quickly. Parents mess up all the time. She knows this, she understands this, and she's lived this. And still, despite all the bumps and bruises, she's grown into a successful young woman with adequate social skills and _brains for days_ as Ned used to say. If anyone can handle this, it's her.

 

She takes a steadying breath to calm her thoughts. If kids are anything like dogs, then her attitude will affect them, not just her, and frantically panicking is not something she wants to pass on to the baby who hasn't stopped crying. Carefully, she shifts Jessica so she's secure in her arms, head supported fully. (They don't need a broken neck on their first day.) Then, Michelle begins to hum a tune while she paces through the apartment, gently rocking Jessica. She remembers a story told by her father about music always calming her as a baby, how he would sing and hum and whistle until she fell asleep. It worked like a charm every time, too.

 

Gradually, the cries quiet into soft whimpers, and the entire building seems to sigh in relief.

 

“Shh, it's alright,” Michelle murmurs, stroking a finger over Jessica’s face. “I've got you. Mommy’s got you.”

 

“Mommy, huh?”

 

Michelle whips around, startled by the sudden appearance of her fiancé. It's been . . . thirty-eight minutes since he left for the nearest Baby’s ‘R' Us, and she wasn't expecting him for a little while longer. He seems to have found what they need, though, since two large boxes now occupy their front hall.

 

“Well, she won't be calling me MJ,” she reasons, feeling a warm blush creep up her neck. “Do you have a problem with this?”

 

Peter walks over to the pair, his dopey smile reaching his eyes. “I think it's sweet,” he admits. “I'm glad you're getting into all of this.”

 

“She _is_ pretty cute. You make some pretty nice babies, Parker.”

 

“I think we could make some nice ones together.”

 

“Maybe. But not for a long while. One at a time. And not until we're married.”

 

He leans up and kisses her, cupping her chin with one hand while the other rubs Jessica’s head. “I think I can live with that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Michelle is not a jealous person. Yet, she inexplicably finds herself resenting, her own daughter, because she’s all Peter seems to notice anymore. She could never hate her daughter, but while she’s working towards a balance between school, her relationship, and motherhood, Peter is solely focused on being a father.

 

Two months have passed since Jessica first came into their lives, and the four-month-old is growing bigger every day. Most milestones for her age are easily met, and some further along as well. They’re not sure if it’s due to Peter’s brains or his spider-genes, but whatever it is works wonders. Michelle has already decided she’ll be her generation’s Emmy Noether, and she’s researched the top schools on the Eastern Seaboard for genius children. Maybe it’s a little much for a girl who can’t eat solid foods, but she just wants the best for Jessica.

 

More than that, though, she wants them to be a family. Peter, however, is ruining her plans. Michelle has been dead-set on attending Harvard Law since she was eight years old. It would take the entire state of Massachusetts being obliterated by an asteroid before she’d _consider_ anywhere else. Harvard itself is pretentious, snobbish, and old-fashioned, but an ex-step-uncle or someone of hers once said she’d never be allowed into such a fine establishment for both her stupidity and her skin color, and she’s worked her ass off ever since to be admitted and prove that bastard wrong. Peter, however, is looking at Stanford for grad school. They’ve looked at the stats and both Stanford and Harvard are tied as best school for his program, but Stark Industries is in California and not New England and Tony Stark offered him a job.

 

It’s a great opportunity for him, she knows, but what about her dreams? He’s barely taken a minute to consider them since grad school was first brought up. If this is what being married to Peter looks like, she’s not so sure she wants it anymore. A good relationship is built on trust and communication, not conversations interrupted by a crying baby that are never finished.

 

As of late, Michelle will arrive home after work or a study session or a damn exam with dreams of cracking open a bottle of wine and cuddling with her fiancé, only to discover him playing with Jessica, or out with Jessica, or feeding Jessica, or watching Jessica sleep, and it goes on and on. The first month with her was spent in a constant state of worry, because what the hell did they know about being parents? Once they got the hang of it, life relaxed and Michelle expected their normalcy to return. One month later and still, Peter refuses to leave Jessica’s side until necessary. He once took her to class with him because he was scared _she would wake up and miss him_.

 

Their longest conversation was the twenty minutes they spent debating the original _Star Trek_ show versus the J.J. Abrams movies. He hasn’t touched her since the night he proposed. Nothing is accomplished, and Michelle is sick of it.

 

So, when Peter returns home from his final exam, she decides to do something about it.

 

“We need to talk.”

 

Peter’s slow to kick off his shoes and hang up his jacket. He gulps nervously, and his eyes flicker around the room. “What about?”

 

There’s no use in beating around the bush, so Michelle is quick to say, “I don’t want to go to California.”

 

“What do you mean?” He’s confused more than anything, and it only works in upsetting Michelle more. _God_ , it’s like she’s invisible to him.

 

“For grad school. I want to stay at Harvard.”

 

He frowns. “But I thought we agreed on Stanford?”

 

“No, you agreed on Stanford without taking a second to hear me out. You didn’t ask me about _anything_ , Peter. Hell, you haven’t _talked_ to me about anything. I might’ve been fine with Stanford if you hadn’t instantly decided to move across the country without once asking what _I_ wanted.” Michelle takes a deep breath, calming her racing heart. “I don’t want to leave you, but I want you to understand that Harvard has been my dream since I was eight and I hate that you’ve been pushing my dreams aside.”

 

“I’m really sorry, MJ. I haven’t been trying to.”

 

“I know, but do you think we could sit and talk about it? Work things out so we’re both happy?”

 

Peter nods. “Of course.”

 

For the first time in weeks, he sits next to her on the couch and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek. They talk for an hour, and it’s surprisingly therapeutic. By the time Jessica starts crying for attention, Michelle is much more comfortable with both her future plans and her relationship.

 

Maybe this whole marriage thing will work out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**June 22nd**

 

_Well, today’s the day, folks. In about two hours, I’ll officially be married to the biggest nerd in the tri-state area. I refused to do a big wedding, let alone one with my parents, so we’re having a small ceremony in the Hamptons with some of my fiancé’s co-workers, his best friend and aunt, and my brother and his family. I almost wish my parents could be here, but they’re still not quite used to me being the mother of a baby that 1) isn’t mine and 2) was born “out of wedlock”, as if it’s still the 1900s. Anyways, this is a day for celebration, not backhanded comments and fake smiles, so my parents get to stay home. Besides, I’ve always been closer to my brother and I’d much rather have him in the wedding party that my traditionalist mother._

 

 _If you had told me at the beginning of Sophomore year that I’d be marrying my fiancé, I would’ve punched you. But now, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. He’s my rock, the light of my life, my soulmate. Secretly, I think I’ve wanted to marry him since our first date, and all this time I’ve just been scared to admit it because I was so adamant against boys and the constitution of marriage. These past few years have taught me that marriage isn’t a business deal anymore, but a sign of commitment and true love. It’s not anti-feminist to get married or have kids, unless you do so against your own will. It’s your choice how you live your life, and I’m choosing a life I never expected I’d so desperately want. You can have sex with as little or as many people as you wish, travel the world or never leave your hometown, marry once or marry six times, have no kids or have twenty, and it will never conflict with your morals so long as_ you _want it._

 

_My parents wanted me to find a nice man in college, be married by twenty-two, never have sex until my wedding night, settle in the suburbs, have two kids, work as a secretary or a nurse or a kindergarten teacher. They wanted me to be a traditional housewife that cooks and cleans and stays home with the kids. I rebelled against it for so long because it wasn’t what I wanted. Now that I have a kid and am getting married at twenty-two, I realize I hated the idea so much because they weren’t allowing me to choose that lifestyle. Now that I’m choosing to marry the love of my life and be a mother, I realize just how empowering it can be. No one is in charge of my life except for myself._

 

_Anyways, I’m being yelled at to get off the computer, so I’ll end my post here._

 

_Also, I won’t be posting for the next two weeks while I’m on my honeymoon, but I will be writing in my downtime, so be prepared for a massive post when I come back online!_

 

_Peace and love,_

 

_MJ_

 

 

* * *

 

**epilogue**

 

* * *

 

 

**June 22nd, 2032**

 

_God, it's been awhile. This past month has been so incredibly stressful you could squeeze the tension out of me like a Sham-Wow. Between writing my book, my daughter’s elementary school graduation, my ten-year wedding anniversary, and pushing a seven pound baby out of my vagina, I haven't had much time to write._

 

_Yes, you heard that right. My son was born three weeks ago today after thirteen hours of labour. I am extremely happy but also extremely exhausted. With my daughter, I managed to skip the newborn phase, which is a very complicated story to explain for anyone who wasn't around ten years ago. Anyways, to the insistence of my husband’s best friend, we celebrated our anniversary sans enfants, which was, admittedly, a nice break, though I did call three separate times to check up on everyone. We didn't do much of anything except sleep, but it was pure bliss on my aching body. I love my son, and I'm sure I'll miss these days when he's coloring on the walls or sneaking out to parties, but I just want to skip the newborn phase for now. (Also I would much appreciate if my body could heal because a few orgasms would not be amiss, and celebrating ten years of marriage without sex just plain sucked. Thankfully my husband is the greatest man alive and made the night special while keeping things PG-13, but my point still stands.)_

 

_Because of my busy schedule, this isn't much of a post and more of an update to excuse my lack of posting and keep everyone informed. Assuming I find time to sit and write something resembling legible information, I will have something up before Christmas, but no promises._

 

_Anyways, motherhood is calling and it sounds like a baby with a dirty diaper, so I best call it quits before the neighbours threaten to call the cops. Again._

 

_Peace and love,_

 

_MJ_


End file.
